The Doctor That Came In From The Cold
by Snow'sLuckyCat
Summary: What happens when The Doctor gets stranded at the North Pole? SPOILERS up through the Doctor Who Christmas 2009 Idents and the start of "The End of Time, Part One." 10th Doctor Whump. Now complete!
1. Of A Very Probably Concussed Time Lord

**Title:** The Doctor That Came In From The Cold (1/2)  
**  
Author: **Snow'sLuckyCat (aka Sharma aka jsl aka me)  
**  
Fandom: **Doctor Who  
**  
Categories:** Hurt/Comfort / Humor / Angst  
**  
Rating: **PG-ish (for action, whump, and weather problems)  
**  
Character:** The Tenth Doctor  
**  
P.O.V.:** First person, multiple. Told from within various characters'  
heads, and whom I usually switch between, at each line break of  
"XXXXXX" that appears within the story...  
**  
Spoilers:** Up through 4x16 aka "The Waters of Mars" (though a bit vague).

**Summary: **What happens when The Doctor gets stranded at the North Pole?

**A/N: **This two-shot was inspired by the Doctor Who Christmas 2009 Ident from  
BBC1 that had reindeer, a snow-buried TARDIS, and an only slightly miffed, but  
very creative, Tenth Doctor all within its slight-but-fun, 30-second time frame... :D

**Disclaimer: **Nothing of Doctor Who (not the Tenth - nor any other - Doctor, nor  
David Tennant, nor Russell T. Davies, nor Julie Gardner, nor any past, current,  
or future logos) belongs to me. I simply am playing in the sandbox that BBC &  
RTD made. But, I swear not to throw sand & to always play nice. :) Oh & I don't  
make any money off this, as I only write for fun, NOT profit. :)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, Ol' Girl. Steady on!" Again though, the TARDIS violently shook around me,  
like it hadn't heard my lament. The next fierce shimmy easily slammed me back  
against one of the console couches.

_What was going on?_

Frantic thoughts of a sickly, or, worse yet, dying TARDIS danced through my  
head like wildfire. My ship had been perfectly fine mere moments ago. I ran  
a quick hand through my unruly brown hair, steadying myself with the other,  
trying desperately to figure out what had gone awry. But, I couldn't think of  
anything, so I carefully climbed back up, grabbed at the trusty mallet that is  
always kept hanging within my reach, and banged it down four or five times  
upon the console hard enough to give my right hand the shakes temporarily.  
Usually, that tactic worked and the TARDIS would right herself after that.

This time, she just tipped and tottered again, even more precariously.

"Now, we'll have none of _that_..." I warned, glaring at the centre blue column  
that still steadily pumped up and down.

The responding sudden movement was more than hard and erratic enough  
to send me toppling up and _over _the seat behind me and crashing to the floor.  
The back of my head hit first and hit hard enough for me to see stars and then  
nothing for at least a minute or two.

Then though, after a final, gentle bump - a landing bump, I belatedly surmised -  
all was quiet again. Except for a low moan of sorrow inside my head and the  
industrial-sized power drill currently painfully burrowing into also said head.  
And even though the former sounded apologetic and was very soft, sensing  
both together was enough to finish rousing me back to complete wakefulness,  
possible concussion be damned...

"Where have you landed us this time? I thought we were going to stay in the  
Vortex a little longer. And are you okay now? Or do you need a bit of a lie-down  
still?" I spit out.

I then stagger upwards, as dizzying of a process as that is, and shuffle back to  
stand next to the console, forgotten, dropped mallet remaining, forlorn, upon the  
ground. Instead of more banging, I try a different, calming approach: a loving pat to  
the console's coral surface, sending my own thoughts of apology into the swirling  
heart of the TARDIS residing just beneath the control panels. She purred back at me,  
seemingly content once more, though apprehensively hoping for more time to settle  
as well, I'd imagine.

"...Well, I suppose I'm off to investigate then." I reply to her wish for spare time.  
"That way, you can rest up for a bit, and get your head right. Let's just hope we're  
not on a different planet this time. I've had enough of _those _for a while, thank you  
very much."

A dissenting wail sounded. "Oh, pish-posh. A bump on the head is no big piffle. I've  
had worse, as you well know. And I'll be back before you know it," I blithely protest,  
already donning my trench coat over the brown pinstripe suit I already wore.

The TARDIS was not convinced and wailed again.

But, I'd already started towards the doors, mind made up. And soon, the doors  
were open and I was through them and gone from the sight of her interior workings.  
Distantly, in the back of my mind, I heard her sigh and knew she was setting herself  
in for what she and I both hoped was a short, non-eventful wait for me to safely  
return from my solo walk, once she was up and ready to jaunt off again...

XXXXX

The trees are thick, the snow is very deep and fluffy, and I'm beginning to think  
there is a very good chance that I _am_, in fact, on another planet. After all, my  
current surroundings don't look too much at all like the Earth of the modern  
era's year-round global warming condition.

I tug the collar of my coat up a bit further, as a chill cuts through me, making  
me shiver, all the time wondering if maybe this exploration _hadn't _been such  
a brilliant idea after all. It wasn't snowing yet, and it had yet to do anything  
since I'd first stepped from the TARDIS and into the sparse tree cover around  
its square-shaped, makeshift landing pad.

But, it is quickly getting darker and not because of coming dusk either.  
Heavyset clouds loom overhead now.

I look up and get hit squarely in the eye with the first of what would very  
probably be many new snowflakes to fall from the sky.

So much for a good, ol' fashioned jaunt.

Sighing, I head back the way I'd come, intent only upon hopefully avoiding  
a chiding I-told-you-so chuckle from my TARDIS once I gained re-entry to  
her infinitely warmer-than-outside inner recesses...

XXXXX

"Basher!" I call out into the snowy darkness from the safety of my comparatively  
comfortable doorway. "Lancer! Rancer! Nixen! Gromit! Lucid! Bonner! Blipzen!  
It's time! Where are you? You're not still grazing, are you? We have much to do  
and little time to do it in! Come, boys!"

However, no answering or distant mewls of assent flitted back to my ears. They'd  
been gone for hours though and it was getting dark. A blizzard was coming. And  
it was only two days before Christmas Eve, and there was still, as I'd just shouted  
into the empty wind, much to be done for the children of Earth and their families,  
before the time came for their storied annual journey.

I hoped they weren't lost. They'd never gotten lost before. Now, waylaid by a  
distraction? _That _could have happened. But, for _hours_? Something may very well  
have gone wrong to affect this reality, although I dearly hope it's not true and that  
none of them are hurt...wherever they'd wound up getting off too.

I turn to my wife, who's drinking hot cocoa with cinnamon and expectantly looking  
up at me from behind her half-moon spectacles.

"I'll be back in a while, Martha."

"Have those deer of yours wandered off again, m'dear?" Very astute, she is.

"Looks about the size of it. I'll be back soon. They can't have gone too far."

"Hurry home soon then, dear. I don't want _you_ getting lost too. I'll tell Harry and  
George what has happened. They'll do what they can while you're gone. As will I.  
Good fortunes to you, my dear, my heart, my love, my life..."

A mutual grin and a mutual wink and I'm off into the wonderland surrounding my  
cavernous home, with my trusty lantern to guide me and the trusty snowshoes  
upon my feet to stabilize my long, loping gait.

XXXXX

Where _is _she? The TARDIS should have been right over this rise.

The whipping wind has long since left me chilled from my hair down to my  
toes. No, it's left me more than chilled. I'm frozen stiff. I can no longer  
accurately feel my fingers or toes. And that's even though I'm pretty sure  
that my toes are still stuck in socks and shoes and my hands are still  
stuck deep into the pockets of my trench coat. At least, I _think _they are.

Would I _ever_ find her? Had aliens moved her to their hidden tower of worship?  
Had they destroyed her, thinking her to be an enemy's vessel? Or was she still  
lying undiscovered somewhere in this barren wasteland of snow, snow, and  
more snow, quietly bemoaning my lack of promised quick return?

I can't tell how much time had passed.

The snow that's still steadily pelting me has obscured my vision of everything  
beyond more than a couple of inches in any direction that I face.

That's how I miss the end of the rise I'm on and the beginning of a steep  
drop-off on the other side of it. I stumble and try to catch myself, but my  
sluggish movements are ineffectual and down I go, landing in a nearly  
senseless heap at the icy bottom.

And the snow _still_ doesn't let up.

Head spinning for the second time that day, I try to figure out which way is up and  
move in that direction, only to have gravity and a dull ache pull me back down. I  
wonder if I could summon the TARDISto where I am? It would save me the trouble  
of having to walk any more on tired legs. I'd only need to crawl a few feet. I could  
_do_ that. I'm sure I could. I'm a Time Lord. The last of my kind. Surely, I'm not going  
out like this. Surely not with just a whimper.

Fishing out the sonic from the inside pocket of my suit jacket takes more time than  
usual, concentration dimming to only focus on my fingers gaining purchase on the  
cylindrical device. My hand closes around something - I think - and withdraws  
automatically. It's the grey shape of the sonic. And I stare at it cock-eyed for a  
second, trying to figure out what to bloody _do_ with it...

The TARDIS. I need this thing to summon her to me. _Somehow..._

It's quite apparent now I can't make it to her.

I can hardly think straight.

Numbly, I halfway sit up and at last depress the correct button. The screwdriver  
extends to its full length, making a choked whirring noise as it does so. But, she  
doesn't come. She forsakes me. And, after another long moment, I drop my hand  
and give up. I secretly wonder if _this _is my punishment for declaring myself "Time  
Lord Victorious" and screwing around with a fixed point in time by trying to save  
Adelaide and the others who were with her: to die wherever here is, so far away  
from the TARDIS - so far away from my home - and all alone.

Am I even going to have time to regenerate? Am I even going to have enough  
strength left to do so, if I do have the time?

Then, I see a familiar black-bodied lantern crest the top of the next hill, the one  
facing me, and hear a distant whooshing sound.

Belated success is at hand...

And then?

I see nothing.

XXXXX

"What have we here?" I muse aloud, light held aloft, lighting my way down a  
gentle slope to better investigate what I'd just seen.

A great big brown something had just given out and collapsed into the snow. I  
hoped it wasn't one of my lost reindeer. As I approached it cautiously, the form  
begun looking less and less like it was an animal of any kind. The brown was  
not fur; it now appeared to be a trench coat, and not a very thick one at that.

A bright light suddenly flared and sparkled for an instant, tightly cocooning itself  
around the figure, but also temporarily blinding me.

After a moment my sight returned, and I turned back just in time to see the  
undulating, golden wave highlight the face of a young man in his 30's. A  
man with unruly dark brown hair, long sideburns, a narrow, pointed nose...  
and a large, eggplant-colored bruise currently covering part of his forehead.

Then, as I leaned over and touched the strange man for the very first time -  
he was solid, but skinny - the otherworldly light fully dissipated. And I was  
again left with just my comparatively dim lantern to show the way back home.

Questions swirl in my mind like a Kansas cyclone.

How did a man so clearly not dressed for the weather, what time of year it was,  
or even where he was on Earth, have gotten this far on seemingly just his own  
two feet. Had something or someone else attacked him? Or had he just fallen  
of his own accord and bumped his head? The snow WAS pretty deep and  
treacherous in this part of the woods, if you didn't know where you were going...

And, speaking of that, where had _this _man been going?

Hunkering down next to him, I feel for a pulse at his wrist and then his neck. There is  
a steady one, to my great, but relieved, shock, although it sounds a bit odd to my ears.  
A bit like a double-timing beat. Like a samba rhythm. Though I can simply fathom why  
for now, with no clear answers coming...

The man is out cold and does not hear any of my words used for gaining his attention.

At least not at first.

Something of my concerned voice must register somewhere within his cold-addled  
mind, for he eventually stirs. "TARDIS? Cold. Why?" he disjointedly complains.

"I haven't seen a...TARDIS. What does one look like?"

"Who're you? Where is she? What have you done to..." his voice trembles and  
then trails off. Chocolate brown eyes pop wide-open then. And he starts struggling  
to move. Tries to sit up again, to turn towards me, even if I believe doing any of that  
might just be a bad idea in the long run. The man doesn't seem like he has much  
energy left, and I wouldn't want him to waste energy that he needn't waste.

"Calm down, son. Calm down," I say, trying to reach him with quiet advice, though  
I myself am feeling anything but calm.

In response, he deflates, this time unknowingly face-planting against the duster,  
made of wool, that I was wearing, rather than the snowy ground below us.

"Well, at least, I won't die alone," he mumbles softly against my shoulder, right  
before his eyes slip shut and he goes limp again.

XXXXX

A frantic booming noise sounds against the door.

I run to it and open it, not knowing what to expect, but definitely _not_ expecting  
what I found awaiting me on the doorstep.

My husband was there, but it wasn't him that first caught my eye. It was what he was  
carrying over his shoulder. Or rather who he was carrying. It was a man. A man I had  
never seen before. A human man, dressed in strange clothes for both this type of  
weather and this type of place. And from the rest of the look of him, he was also  
quite unconscious and very possibly hurt.

"Oh gosh! What's happened, dear?"

I pull my husband gently inside and shut the door behind him. He shakes his head  
and hair free of free of residual snowflakes and stomps his booted feet before  
answering, never letting his unusual burden shift too far from his grip.

"I found him out cold near the grazing meadows. He was exhausted and delirious  
even when I roused him. And, no, before you ask, I have no idea where he came from.  
Kept mentioning something called a TARDIS, whatever or whoever that is," he explains.

"Well...Did you have any luck with the reindeer?" I ask, content to let any other questions  
about the extra man now inside my home - like a name to call him by - go unanswered  
for the time-being.

"Nope. None. Not one sign of them. All I found was him. And he was carrying this," he  
continues, holding up what appears to be some sort of metallic tool for me to see.

"Is that a...screwdriver?" I ask, incredulous.

"If so, it's like one I've never seen before," he says before placing the unusual object  
on a nearby counter, out of the way for, then turning back to me. "Where can I put him?"

I think about the guest room for a moment. But, it hadn't been cleaned since our son  
had last visited, and I didn't want this strange man shacked up in a bed and room that  
still had the scent of Charlie about it, no matter how much of a clean freak he continually  
portends himself to be, now that he's in his early twenties...

"Just put him on the couch over there for now. Try to make him as comortable  
as you can. I'll go and see if I can fix up Charlie's room for him in the meantime.  
I shouldn't be too long."

"You always know what to do, love." He smiles softly and I turn away, concern  
in head, but relief in heart.

Who was this man and where did he come from? Would we get any answers to  
either mystery once he woke up again?

XXXXX

I'm not a healer.

I'm a builder.

Callouses and tools, that's me.

Bandages and poultices and cleaning and clothing, that's more my wife.

The humming coming from the next room hasn't stopped, so she's still hard at work.

Not for the first time, I look down at my handiwork. He'd come awake only once, briefly  
and wordlessly, during the entire process. Which was a small miracle, considering I'd  
undressed him, put his sopping wet clothes and socks and tennis shoes by the fire to  
dry, and redressed him in warm, dry clothes, and bundled him up in blankets to stave  
off any possibility of serious hypothermia or frostbite. His lips and fingernails were finally  
pinking up again, as was the bruise and gashes on his forehead. It was still an angry-  
looking mass, but my wife could easily fix that up. She'd dealt with far worse before.

Not for the first time that night, I wondered if I did the right thing in bringing him here. I  
knew I couldn't very well leave him out there in such harsh conditions to die. Especially  
not alone. But, I already have a job to do and reindeer to still find. I can't just babysit this  
man of whom I know nothing about during the most important time of the year for both  
my helpers and I. I can't take time out to deal with the problems of one person, when so  
many others are already counting on me, can I?

"...Well, it's all done."

I hadn't heard Martha come back in, nor heard her humming stop, so caught up  
in my own head was I.

She sees what I've done and nods her approval. I don't tell her about the two  
heartbeats that I thought I'd heard earlier, however. She'd probably just think  
me crazy or hard-of-hearing anyway...

"Now, all I need to do is dress that forehead of his...And then we can get him into  
the other room and into a proper bed, something he doesn't seem to have slept  
in for quite a while by the look of things."

She gets the bandages and ointments and ice packs out and sets to work,  
tending to the man's most noticeable injuries, the bruises and the abrasions  
marring his youthful face and scalp.

XXXXX

The first sensation I feel - and I had no idea that I'd feel anything at all again -  
is warmth. Almost too much of it, in fact.

Oh, and I'm still me too. The old me, with the same teeth, and the mole on my  
back, in between my shoulder blades, and the sideburns or really bad skin...

I open my eyes and look 'round. But, everything's a bit blurry, if I'm honest.  
Blobs of color here. Blobs of color there. All unmoving. I guess I'm alone then.  
But, unless someone's been doing some major re-decorating in the time I've  
been unawares, I'm not aboard the TARDIS. In fact, I don't know where I am,  
aside from inside somewhere. Have I been Doctor-napped?

I wonder who brought me here. Where were they now? I couldn't hear anyone.  
Wiping a hand over my eyes, my fingertips brush up against something foreign.  
Or at least it seems to be foreign. I still can't see very well. I blink a few times and  
the blurriness recedes, except for 'round the edges. Something fluffy is behind my  
back, a pillow - in fact, a few pillows - a pillow pile. A pile of pillows.

I chuckle at the word play. It's a low, harsh, guttural sound, however, one that's  
quite unused to coming from this me's mouth. Come to think on it, the inside of  
my throat feels raw. Sore. Dry. I need some water...or better yet...tea. Tea's  
always good. Free radicals and tannins and all that, you know?

I wonder where they keep the tea things here? If they even have tea things here?  
I don't see a bell. So, I guess I wasn't truly infirmed or confined or anything. I see  
nothing wrong with me having a jaunt to see the sights of wherever I'd wound up.

Something is tickling at my memory though, but it's not readily coming forward.  
There's something I need to find, isn't there? I think. But, what? What had I  
been doing before I was here, being warm and toasty? And why was I here?

Did someone need my help?

Shrugging out from underneath the covers is an ordeal. An unusually laboured  
one. By the time I'm free of the tangle of sheets and quilts, I'm panting quietly.  
I'm starting to actually internally feel that something is amiss. My body just isn't  
cooperating as quickly as is normal.

Was I being drugged? Was I a captive after all? What was going on?

And who _or what_ was behind it?

Mind made up, I push off from the wrecked cocoon of pillows and coverlets rucked  
up behind me on the bed, intent on taking to my feet and seeking answers in the  
next room. Knees already threatening to buckle, I grab onto the foot of the bed to  
stabilize some sort of dodgy, dogged, determined traction between bare feet and  
a smooth wooden floor.

And, then, out of the nowhere that's behind my back...an unfamiliar voice.

"My name is Martha and where in the white, green, blue, and brown earth  
do you think _you're_ going off to?"

I quickly stand, ram-rod straight, surprised, on the defensive, hearts beating  
hard and fast. _Way too_ fast. And what had already been a tenuous grasp on  
the metallic bed frame to start with falters, slips. My clammy fingers slide away  
and grasp at empty air. And I would've fallen had not the owner of the voice  
quickly decided that falling again was not in my best interest.

"_Hello_," I say to the new presence that's carefully supporting me about the waist.

XXXXX

The glazed, unfocused eyes tell me he's still not really seeing me or much of  
anything else. But, that doesn't seem to keep him from talking...or moving. I'd  
just laid down for the night when I'd heard the bedsheets being noisily shifted.  
Eventually, the touching of toes to a creaky, hardwood floor had followed.

I'd hurriedly come down the short hallway and opened the door to see our guest  
shaking like a leaf but standing resolutely. Like he needed to be somewhere more  
than he needed to be aided or coddled by me. But, now, he seemed conversational,  
albeit in an odd manner.

"Martha? I knew a Martha once," he muses, head lolling drunkenly, "She left me.  
Ages ago now, I'd wager. You're not her, are you? You don't look like her. Too white  
in the follicles. Your name Jones too?"

"'Fraid not, young man."

"Just as well." He lapses into silence again.

And I wonder if he's gone to sleep sitting up.

But, then...

"Where are we? Your home, you said. But, where's your home?"

"The North Pole."

He scoffs at this. "Don't be ridiculous. Aren't there only polar bears and glaciers 'round?"

"Apparently not," I counter wryly.

He gives me a hard look.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm trying to see what you are. What you _really _are. You're not a Slitheen. Or a Krillitane..."

What are those, I wonder? _Aliens_?

"I should say not," I tell him.

"Oh, all right then. I'm too tired to figure you out right now anyway," he relents.

"Care to tell me your name then? Your eyes tell me you're not actually young  
enough to be called a young man." When he'd looked at me hard, I'd seen  
something ancient in his eyes. Something old and weary. Something lonely  
and everlasting. Something not belonging to a human being. The two hearts  
had been a clue. But, the full reality? Would I find out? Would he tell me his secret?

It now looks as if both his brain and mouth have become stuck. Open-mouthed,  
slack-jawed, and silent. Then, words come flying out. At crazy speeds. And with  
no breaths in between...

"Oi! Where _**are **_my manners? Why didn't you say so earlier I'd not introduced myself? I mean,  
I need to to be a good guest. As you've been a good host. At least you seem to 'ave been.  
And I've been no doubt such a burden. And oh look! There seems to be a bandage on my  
head. Why would I need a BAAAAANDAGE on my headdddd? Did I fall? I wonder if I fell.  
Some latern found me somewhere. Somewhere there was snow, and......TARDIS! I've  
lost her, haven't I? Listen, you haven't seen a blue box, have ya? I think she may be  
'round here somewhere. She can't have gone far, not without me. No sirree, pop the p!"

He grins then, but this time he looks like a madman.

No more was he the soft-spoken, tired man from before. Blue box? TARDIS?  
TARDIS had been one of the words he'd said to my husband a few hours ago...

"Who or _what_ are you?" I find myself muttering in awe.

"Seem to have missed my name again, have I? Well, I'm the Doctor, that's who. And as  
for what? I don't go crowin' 'round about this too often nowadays, yah see. Trying to keep  
a low profile after being involved in some pretty nasty timey-wimey business, but..." he  
leans in closer to me, whispers his secret, "...I'm a Time Lord."

And then he giggles.

XXXXX

I don't know what made me tell her. Or what made me giggle. I'm not quite feeling  
like myself. I assume that this has something to do with the telling. And the giggling.  
After all, she could still be a Slitheen. And I could still be her prisoner. And the TARDIS  
could also still be out there.

But, woozy has become my new state-of-being, apparently, and I find myself listing -  
or maybe I'm being helped? - back into the warm cocoon I'd previously vacated. My  
fast-talking alone had sapped the energy right out of me.

There would be no escaping tonight.

Perhaps maybe tomorrow --

This bed sure IS brilliant.

And if there's snow still around?

Well, I'd rather not wait until...ZZZzzz...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
_**TO BE CONCLUDED...  
**_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**END NOTES:** Any and all positive or critical feedback is welcome (as long as it's done in  
a polite manner), as this is my first **_Doctor Who_** story ever and I probably need all the help  
I can get. The concluding part to this should be up later on this week, but I'd also appreciate  
anything that you all have to say about _**this**_ chapter, on its own merits...**THANKS!** :D


	2. Of A Buried TARDIS & Eight Reindeer

The Doctor That Came In From The Cold (2/2)

By ~ Sharma Stancil aka Snow'sLuckCat aka jsl

See Part One for Header, Disclaimer, et. al.

A/N: I began writing this, the story's concluding part, almost a week before  
Christmas Day 2009, then saw "The End of Time, Part One," on that day, but  
have completed it without having first seen the latter half of that episode  
(aka "The End of Time, Part Two") at all.

A/N 2: Many thanks to you for all your wonderful reviews! Weimlady, smalld1171,  
converse universe, bluedragon1836, and Aqua Mage, this means you! :) *huggles*

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, it's morning.

It's morning.

And I'm stuck.

And I still don't know where that bloody Time Lord of mine is either.

I _told_ him not to go out, but did he listen to me? Does he _ever_ listen to me?

Bloody, blasted, brilliant Doctor!

Hold on a tick...I think I hear slowly approaching sounds.

Footsteps, maybe?

_Doctor_?

XXXXX

It's morning, all right.

It's morning.

And I'm cold.

I shouldn't _be_ cold though. And I _wouldn't_ be either, if not  
for my already being tethered to Nixen the Nitwit. Why in  
this _planet_ did George make _him_ leader this time? My back  
isn't _that_ bad off. I'm still hitched up and way out here,  
aren't I? I'm not safe at home playing the invalid like  
Randolph is...even though he really _is_ quite sick.

I cannot fathom the answer to George's last minute move at  
all. That ol' elf knows that Nixen only has a nose for foodstuffs,  
but does not also possess a brain to lead. Ergo, he should _be_  
led at all times, and NOT be the one doing the leading. Any  
other in our group would've make a better leader than him.  
Heck, even a _non_-deer probably would've.

But, here we unlucky seven are, stuck with the eighth wonder  
of the Neanderthal age, as he continues to graze by what he,  
and only he, had first thought was home: a large, half-buried-  
in-the-snow, rectangular blue box, one with a black lantern  
affixed to its top.

When will he ever learn? And when will he get through so we  
can leave? He's far too heavy for the rest of us to pull or drag;  
in fact, we already tried that. He just whined about how we  
should stay in one place and that Kris would find us, and then  
dug his hooves even deeper into the hilly bank of snowy ice  
beneath us. All because we were apparently, supposedly "lost."

...It's times like these I wish Randolph was here with us. But,  
he lucked out and got deer flu. So, he's at home, warm and  
safe and recovering. Which is where _I_ _**should**_ be.

Home, recovering from being in the company of Nixen's stupidity  
for far too long to be considered healthy, otherwise known as  
eighteen long hours...and counting.

Sometimes it sucks to be Kris's new number four flying reindeer,  
and that's what I, former co-lead deer, Lancer, currently am.

XXXXX

I do believe it's morning.

...If the sun simultaneously hitting me in the right eye and making  
me want to toss my cookies is any accurate indication, that is...

I feel like I have a hangover. Funny thing, that. Time Lords don't  
ever get them. At least, I've never had one. Not one that I can  
outright remember now anyway, although...there was this one  
time...on Referdia...when I...

The past doesn't matter. Only why I _now _have one matters.

A creaking noise. A door opening, I realize belatedly. Oh, hel-_lo_...

It's the woman again. The one from before. Unless she's got  
a clone, that is.

Did I tell her anything when last we saw each other? Gibberish?  
Or did I really let the cat out of the bag and let her have it with  
both barrels of untempered truth? From her newly more cautious  
ways, I bet it's the latter.

I'm not crazy; just a Time Lord. No need to be frightened. Not yet.  
No Oncoming Storm to rain down upon you yet. And there's no  
reason that it should appear in the near future either, is there?

"I'm here to check your bandages," she says a bit coolly, upon  
initially viewing my conscious awareness.

"Oh, why, thank you very much. Don't think I'll be needing them too  
much longer. Been in a healing coma, I have. Not a long one, mind you,  
as I still feel a bit 'meh,' but 'meh' is still _loads_ better than I probably  
_was_ feeling," I say quickly, letting my gob take on its friendliest tones.

"Oh, did you now? A coma to heal? You sure you weren't just sleeping hard?"

Martha, if that's the girl's real name, and I'm beginning to think it is, is very  
placating with her words. Good, she thinks I'm a bit full of rubbish then. Just  
the way I like it _these_ days.

What kind of man does she take me to be? A savior, a liar, the village idiot,  
a bit of all three? I wonder...

She comes over to me. I try not to squirm under her touch. It's hard though.  
I still don't really know what happened. And since when do you need bandages  
for a hangover? I think I've been a bit roughed up too though. Because the  
bandages come away from my forehead, still sticky with drying blood.

_**What!?!**_

"Och! That looks rather messy, m'dear. Looks like your 'healing coma' didn't  
work any miracles for ya last night. Eh?"

At her words, I frown. Maybe I'd just passed out then? I could've sworn I'd  
entered into the healing process...

Eerily, the image of the silent Ood that I'd seen just after Adelaide...did what  
she did...starts to again reflect in my mind and in front of my eyes. Your song  
is ending, he'd said, long before even that, when I was still happily traveling  
with Donna. Did he mean today, only one day before Christmas Eve? Would  
I not even make it until Christmastime this year?

Then, there was Carmen's creepy and very similar riddle of a proclamation,  
another verbal harbingerof potential doom. "You be careful, because your  
song is ending, sir. It is returning, it is returning through the dark. And then  
Doctor... oh, but then...he will knock four times," she'd said all those months ago.

So, did the similarities mean that they were both right? They couldn't simply  
both be batty loonies, could they? I'm just not that lucky anymore, am I? Oh,  
how I wish I were though...

A soft pat against my forehead brings me from these dour thoughts  
and back to the present time and place.

"What _are_ you doing?" I wince as another, more significantly forceful...  
or maybe just generous?...pat hits nearly the same place as before.

"Salve for your gash."

"Oh."

The "salve" reeks of something I can't quite discern. And whatever  
it is, it's foul. Like, exceedingly foul. And at first it feels like it's burning  
my skin off. But, no, it's not doing that. I sense that the skin underneath  
the layer of goop is still intact, and is, in fact, not as inflamed as before,  
although I now think it has more to do with the Martha goop than me.

Another sobering thought.

I need help to heal.

I used to not need help from anyone...

Hopefully, it's just the temporary way of things though...

"_Ow_," I say, miffed at the second hardened touch against  
my brow that succeeds in breaking my inner struggle.

"Hold still, then. I'm almost done applying the new bandage,"  
she scolds, as she lightly rests her hand upon my right shoulder,  
to stabilize my squirming.

She must've felt something there too, if only for a split second,  
before she abruptly pulls her hand away as if scalded. Had she  
heard it? My second heart beating like a hammer against my chest?

Was she scared?

And where is the TARDIS? I can't sense her anywhere near.  
It's as if I never parked her in the exact place where we  
wound up. Or she wound up someplace else...

Which means...I must have been exploring and then something  
happened. I rack my brain...but all the things surrounding my  
missing time...how I got my injury...and my journey ending here  
(and under the dubious care of these strange people with pointy  
ears), are once more shrouded by thick fog and vast curtains of  
frozen-white marble.

"I'll...be...back in just one minute, sir. One minute."

She backs her way out of the room, and for some reason, I can't  
help but think that she'd done something rather similar since I've  
been here, but maybe for a different reason.

She doesn't go far, and, presently, I hear a raised voice filtering  
through the walls. Not only hers either, I soon realize. A man's -  
her husband's? - has joined the fray. And neither initially sounds  
very happy.

Skittering out from underneath the warmth of nearly a half-dozen  
different coverlets, even though my legs are still a bit wobbly, I try  
to focus on the words and what's being said, rather than my own  
residual dull aches.

Stiffly, I approach the now closed - though still unlocked, I notice -  
door. So, _that_ settles that then; I was never a captive prisoner,  
after all.

This new truth still doesn't give me any clue as to _how_ I'd arrived  
_here, _or, even more importantly, the current, wayward location  
of my ship, as yet. But, maybe they know. Maybe they know and  
they're not telling me. Maybe they'd already seen her, but had  
not known what she really was. Besides her being an object that  
was quite incongruous with the overtly rural landscape, that is...

With my left ear now practically glued to the door's wooden paneling,  
I listen in further...

XXXXX

"Kristuff James Hamilton Scrooge McKringle, did you know that  
"boy" you rescued yesterday seems like he has two hearts and  
isn't human at all? He's a Time Lord or something or other. And his  
name's The Doctor. That's what he told me late last night, anyway."

I think about lying, for all of one second, but then I notice her body  
language. My wife doesn't get angry. But, her current akimbo pose  
and pointed look tells me it's not because she's at all incapable of  
such a strong negative emotion.

"The two hearts, I knew. I'd thought it was a defect or something.  
The other? Not a clue. 'sides, the boy was delirious. His obvious  
concussion was the part of him talking to you, and it was speaking  
without his cognizance to correctly shift and steer between much  
of anything. So, I doubt he's really a Time Lord, if that's whatever  
he said he was..."

"Well, after you nodded off, he told me that...wait a minute...  
you _knew _about his two hearts and you didn't see fit to tell  
_me_ about them?!"

"It didn't come up in our conversation before bed, did it? Only his physical  
well-being did. And I found out when I was getting him changed into dry  
clothes, and YOU were busy cleaning. Martha, I honestly thought I was  
hearing things...Sounded like you could dance to it though..." I josh,  
a small smile gracing my face and aiming in her general direction.

Nothing, not even a grin, in return.

Bad timing for jokes too, I bet.

"You thought you were hearing a dance beat? Well,  
unceremoniously finding out that our guest HAS his  
own internal samba beat nearly gave _me_ a stroke!"

"Samba? Really? I was thinking they had more of a cha-cha-cha tempo going..."

"Honestly, Kristuff, why do I bother?" comes the exasperated response.

She sighs, her glare softening, then turns back to the counter and the  
chicken-and-vegetable broth she'd begun preparing for our guest.

I _knew_ humor would eventually soften her verbal blows.

"Would you have believed me, if I'd told you?" I ask.

The muted harrumph tells me 'no.' It also tells me I am right. She  
would've thought me daft, or that I was playing a trick on her.

I tell her as much. "You would've thought me senile or having the  
ideas and ideals of a trickster. Am I wrong?"

Another harrumph.

I guess I hit the ball out of the stadium with that statement too.

"But," she protests, to my continued silence, "That's not the point.  
You still should have told me. As it was, I probably scared him with  
my sudden retreat. I hope this soup will make it better between us..."

I'm barely listening to my wife prattle on about her making apologies  
to our mystery tenant anymore, for an idea has struck me. I break  
through the stream of my wife's pedantic twittering, with my own  
haphazard musing.

"...I bet he could help me find my reindeer. He's not human, if what he  
told you is true. So, maybe he has better senses than we do as well."

"You _can't_ be serious. That man was just grievously injured  
yesterday. Not to mention thoroughly concussed. He should  
not be going anywhere, not for a while yet. Besides, there's  
that TARDIS thing that's still out there. And you need to get  
everything else ready for tomorrow night too. Don't forget  
that. I'm sure those deer of yours will turn up on their own;  
they always do..."

"What if they can't? What if they're stuck somewhere?"

"They _**will**_. They wouldn't let you down. And in case you forgot, they  
can fly. So, they can get away from danger far easier than you, or I,  
or probably even this Doctor fellow that we're currently housing."

"It still can't hurt to ask him, can it, Martha?"

"Fine. You never listen to me. Always swanning off. Doing what you  
want. Damned be anyone else's feelings or limited capabilities."

Taking this to be grudging assent, I get up from the table and softly  
slip from the room and into the hallway, before Martha has an extra  
moment to change her mind and bar me from seeing the man until  
he's finished recovering.

"Doctor? I want to ask you if..." I start, before fully reopening his door.

Upon viewing the contents of said room, I stop cold and stare around  
at its rumpled disorder. Covers are strewn all about the floor and bed.  
As are mounds of both bloody and clean bandages. The neat stack of  
dried and pressed suit, shirts, tie, coat, and socks is gone from the  
cabinet shelf we'd stored them on. And, worst of all, no longer is  
a tall, skinny, bandaged man in residence.

"Martha!" I shout, "Martha, he's gone!"

"What do you mean by gone? He has a concussion! How far can he  
have gone?" she replies, rushing to my side and viewing the mess  
settling within the room.

"You don't suppose he heard us talking, do you?" I ask.

"I...I don't know. When I went in there, he was still in some pain, and  
probably as physically weak as a kitten. His voice was stronger though,  
not as thin or reedy as before. I just don't know..."

"I better alert the others," I tell her, turning on my heel and getting well  
on my way to George and the barn, leaving a shell-shocked Martha Anne  
McKringle in my wake.

XXXXX

I wonder if I'll be stuck like this forever.

The Doctor isn't here.

He called me to him once, but I couldn't go.

I'd already gotten stuck in the snow. REAL snow. Which is something  
I usually don't mind seeing. Especially since real snow is so rare these  
days. But being stuck in place by it? Weeellll, that's wholly different and  
not very much fun at all.

My Time Lord doesn't usually call me to him, unless there's a real emergency  
or he's been seriously hurt and physically can't make it back on his own.

Oh, Rasilion, he better not be hurt. Or dying somewhere. I knew I should've  
not ever let him out of my sight. And I'll have to be extremely hard-pressed  
before I do so again...

XXXXX

A new, decidedly non-animal arrival.

_It's about damned time!_

Only...

It sure doesn't look like Kris. Not unless he dropped a hundred  
pounds in weight and picked up about four inches in height all  
in one night. Something I consider to be a highly unlikely feat.  
Even for the King of Winter Magic.

I wonder if Kris sent him for us then?

The man's hobbling along precariously though, hands stuck  
in pockets, like he's unused to the snow. Or maybe it's just  
his shoes that are unused to snow. They're white canvas  
ones, with rubber soles, yet no real traction, I'd suspect.

_Typical._

The one man who can save us isn't even wearing weather-  
appropriate gear. And it seems very possibly that I've at last  
met Nixen's human counterpart. I never thought such a person  
one existed.

As he gets closer, I notice not only is his footwear wrong,  
but that his entire outfit is just as odd and misplaced as  
well. A pinstriped suit with only a trench coat over it and  
a white dress shirt and purple-speckled tie underneath?

Is he **_crazy_**?!

At first, I think he's just walking along, but then he  
smiles, a grin of "hello there!" that is quickly followed  
up by a grimace. He frowns slightly at the buried blue  
box, then starts purposely stalking towards us.

And it appears his frown has been replaced by  
a look of contemplation...

I look up in acknowledgement as he speaks, though  
it looks as though he's talking to the box at first and  
not to us. Yep, definitely Nixen in human form. 'Cuz,  
up until this moment, only he would've been silly enough  
to strike up a conversation with an inanimate box, much  
in the way that this person is currently having.

That's it. We're _doomed_...

XXXXX

Officially, I sense him before I hear him. Which is  
a small feat, as usually, it's just the opposite.

The Doctor...He's back.

About bloody time too!

Hang on a tic. His footfalls are haltingly off and echo  
throughout my recesses in an inconsistent, clumsy  
pattern. With all the running that man does, particularly  
in his current incarnation, he shouldn't seem this uneven  
and staggered by simple snow.

Something else must be wrong.

I reach out and caress his mind lightly.

_Uh-oh._

Dogged determination.

A wavering, flickering time sense.

Exhibiting these traits are what only an unhealthy,  
injured, or only just healing Time Lord would do.

His mind itself contains a mess of images, both past  
and present, and he doesn't seem to be aware of my  
presence at all. Another abnormality.

And then he starts speaking. And my fears are belayed,  
somewhat. He sounds loopy, to say the least, but he  
knows who I am. So, I suppose that's something...

XXXXX

"Ah! There you are! And looks like you've made  
some new furry friends while I was away! And...  
Hel-_looo_! That's some hole you've gone and dug  
yourself into, Ol' Girl!"

Apparently, it's snowed somewhat recently, since  
it's pretty clear that when I landed, there was no  
blockage that I had to dig through. Or else there  
would be visible signs of displaced snow, right?

Now, I'm miffed.

There's no way I can get inside with the door  
jammed closed as it is, although those furry  
animals DO possess antlers. Hmmm..."Martha"  
said that I was at the North Pole, which means  
I'm on Earth. Which means maybe these aren't  
normal deer at all?

North pole equates to flying reindeer. Isn't that  
how the old equation goes? Or is that just a myth?  
Couldn't hurt to find out, could it? Oh, look, there  
are eight of them...AND they ARE just standin'  
'round. Let's give these gents something to do,  
shall we?

XXXXX

Well, I'm convinced.

This man is even more Nixen than Nixen will ever be.

He's attached the end of our tethers to what has  
got to be his weird box. And that box is definitely  
no sleigh! It's _HUGE_!

And you know what's worse?

Nixen is just letting this odd stranger corral us all  
into a line of two-by-two.

Who does this skinny joker think he is?

Santa Clause!?!

Newsflash, buddy!

We don't got any presents. Nor a sleigh. Nor  
a jolly ol' driver with beard of white and suit  
of red and white.

Ergo, we are _not_ your ride.

And yet, only seconds later - far sooner and  
easier than I expected - and with a yank and  
a half and a tug and a sharp, shouted "YAAAAH!"  
from the strange stranger - out pops the blue box.

And then, seconds after that, we're all fully airborne.  
So much for going home my own way... *sigh*

XXXXX

"Whoooooooooa! Oooooooo!" I yell to no one in  
particular, as we hit the open sky and promptly  
get very nearly inverted.

I didn't think this would actually work. I thought  
I'd just wind up looking really very silly.

Currently, however, the TARDIS is horizontal and  
I'm sitting on her right side, and she's probably not  
too happy about either spatial position. To be fair  
though, I couldn't have dug her out. That would've  
taken HOURS...

...And what's more? We have a unique view of the winter  
lands of the north from dozens of feet up in mid-air, while  
lagging behind a set of magical furry things.

In fact, it looks like we're going higher still. I grip the  
reigns tighter, as we start our ascent. Only to have  
everything, including me, turn upside down as we're  
tugged and tucked into another unexpected, inverted  
loop, only this time we're headed in the opposite direction.

"Woo! Hooo! HOOOOOO! Ha! Ha! Ha! HA!!!" I yell and  
laugh jubilantly, as we level out again and speed up.

Oddly, we're higher up now.

Well above the treetops.

And I'm dizzy and punch-drunk with adrenaline.

Well, dizzy also maybe from a slight pressure building up within  
my head. I had, after all, ditched the bandage and salve "Martha"  
gave me on the way, almost as soon as I was no longer in sight  
of the home of Martha and Kris.

A Time Lord needs no help to heal. An old adage, that.

At least, I could repay them for their care, such as it was, by  
bringing back their deer to them, for I'm sure that that's where  
and with who they belong. Unless, that is, there is a second  
group of eight little reindeer out there and who are still waiting  
for rescue.

Thinking about that gives me a head-rush, like I've had too  
much sugar, even though I've not eaten since the day before.  
A hard, malnourished crash is sure to follow.

Thankfully, just up ahead, I see the clearing where the now-familiar  
barn and house stand, white and dark brown monoliths pushing up  
against the clear blue sky. And out in front scurry two people, Martha  
and Kris, no doubt, to greet me with looks of both shock and awe.

Hail, the returning Time Lord! And with big and furry presents too...

XXXXX

As he peers down at us from his blue chariot of wood, grinning  
from ear to ear, I wonder about exactly how wrong I've been.  
I was thinking him to be a simple crackpot, gone back out in to  
the winter weather and northern wilds, for no other reason than  
to escape. From what or whom? I do not know.

But, here he was, back again, and with nine additions too.

All by himself, this man has found my deer and saved Christmas.

I am stunned silent.

My wife? Not so much.

"Well, I'll be dipped in dishwater and painted with mud, you  
_are _a miracle worker, aren't you, dear?" she comments, leaving  
my side to approach the line and our saving grace.

Her whole demeanor has changed. She too realizes then, that this  
is a man...or Time Lord...to be honored, not reviled or questioned.

At last, he nods, ducks his head, and says in response, "They  
seemed to know they way all boy themselves, once they got  
airborne, that is. I was just along for the ride. And what a ride  
they give me!"

He virtually ignores his role in things, but I think he did way  
more than he's letting on.

At last, he slides down from his unusual perch. The exhilarated  
smile has fallen from his face. An exhausted grimace has taken  
up residence instead.

My wife hasn't noticed it yet.

"So, this is the TARDIS then? It's a bit odd and small, isn't it?"

"Oh, you should see the insides. You'd be surprised."

A tiny, wistful smile.

Then, without a real warning, except for his face paling slightly,  
his legs buckle and he deflates to the ground. Martha grabs  
his arms and is able to control the fall though, and he winds  
up sitting, leaning back, against the side of the TARDIS.

"Just gotta rest here for a second. A bit dizzy," he mutely  
breathes into the air, puffs forming in front of his lips.

"When's the last time you've had anything to eat, Doctor?"

At the mention of his name, The Doctor glances up. "So, you  
believe me then? Time Lord, two hearts, miracle worker, and  
all of that?"

My wife nods, genuine. "Yes. Yes, I do."

I nod as well from behind her.

XXXXX

I'd say about three and a half more hours have passed being in  
the company of my new friends. Only, I wasn't aware for most of it.

After I'd been helped back inside and had my ship righted by  
Kris and Martha, I quickly sucked down five large bowls of their  
delicious leek and turkey stew and also had more than my fair  
share of hot tea, I had at last been able to trust myself and my  
surroundings enough, so that I could sink into the positive aura  
of a true healing coma for as long as it took to repair both the  
visible and internal damage to my skull.

Which, thankfully, didn't take all that long, relatively speaking.

Upon coming to the surface again, I feel 1000% better. And I  
already know, even without looking or physically feeling, no  
gaping cut remains on my forehead. Within, my mind is clear  
of confusion. And I just bet that a spring will back in my step  
as well.

Good.

A knock on my door comes. Feminine. "Come on in, Martha!  
I'm awake!" I call.

"Ready for some more stew?" she asks, upon entering.

"No, no, but I think, at last, I'm ready to go. I can hear her  
in my mind again and she's calling to me. She's ready."

"Who? Your ship?"

I nod and expect her to leave. She doesn't though, not this time.

"Tell me about her?" she stays instead, sitting on the  
edge of the bed that I was just about to get up from.

"Well, she's a living ship, she's bigger on the inside - you'll  
see - and she's the last thing that exists of my home planet,  
Gallifrey. Besides _me_, that is..." I start to tell her about  
everything, well, the short version of everything.

It all comes tumbling out, anyway. And this time it's not to  
thin air or even a companion. This time, it's to Martha, wife  
of Father Christmas.

Can I pick 'em _or what_?

XXXXX

"Weeeelllll, I best be going now - yep, I AM already aware  
that I said that before, Ol' Girl - Got an Ood to see about  
a possible song ending though, you two."

"A what?" Kris asks.

"An Ood. Tentacle-faced aliens that...erm...ahhhh...long  
story. Sorry, gotta dash. Maybe, one day, I'll come back  
and tell you the rest though. Good luck tomorrow, you  
two. You'll be brilliant!"

With that, I vanish within the recesses I had just shown  
them, run to the console, and bring the TARDIS back to  
life and us back to being well on our way again.

XXXXXXXXXX

The bright blue box whirs merrily, then fades in and  
out, once, twice, thrice, gone. All that's left behind is  
the shallow imprint of its outer, squared shape in the  
snow, leaving in its wake eight, brown-nosed, flying  
deer and two happy, yet flustered, bipeds.

"That Doctor fellow might be a miracle worker, but he  
is also completely _**insane**_," Martha Kringle states to  
her husband once the box, that really WAS bigger-on-  
the-inside, has vanished right in front of them from  
view and taken its Time Lord with it.

"That, and a bit _**magnificent**_! Now, come on and let's  
go check up on our deer. I'm sure they've had quite  
the adventure as well. And we have a lot of work yet  
to be done! After all, we have to actually work harder  
and quicker tonight to fully fulfill the Doctor's assessment.  
Won't we, boys?"

A chorus of distant mewls answer him happily and  
affirmatively from within the nearby barn. George  
had led them directly to nice beds of dry hay and  
warm blankets and given warm milk to all them...  
yes, even Nixen.

Together, Martha and Kris walk the path and enter  
the barn, leaving in their wake a silent twilight, a  
single imprint, and the soft echo of an ancient and  
unique ship gearing up.

And, far above, spins the Doctor and his TARDIS,  
once more safely back within the Time Vortex,  
and back on the road towards their ultimate  
mutual destiny, whatever it was to be and  
wherever it was to take them next...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
**THE END **  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  
**  
Ending Author's Note:** Just in case you all were wondering, this fic is and was  
intended to run directly into the beginning of "The End of Time, Part One," thus  
making this an in-canon trip, _**NOT**_ an AU story. So, think of this as a side trip  
that Ten simply did not impart to the Ood, upon his arrival on the Oodsphere,  
near the start of that episode. I chalk _**THAT**_ glaring omission up to the after-  
effects of his concussion... ;c )

Also? Reviews are totally still wanted, loved, and cherished as well. :)  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


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